


head is not my home

by andnowforyaya



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Promiscuity, Prostitution, Trauma, daehyun/everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like he does it all for fun - not <em>all</em> for fun. Only partly. ("Sex is a game," he tells Youngjae once, hungover and nursing a coffee and a split lip. "And I always win.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	head is not my home

Daehyun fucks like he is born for it, like he'd been gifted with that precious ability to reach inside a person and press all the right buttons, until their toes curled and their vision danced with black spots, until orgasm and the person were compacted into the same space; he can make it good, make it slow, make it rough.

Better, though, are the times Daehyun gets fucked.

His body is loose and malleable. Throw his legs over his head and they'll stay there. Tell him to hold his knees apart and he'll do it. And the noises he makes when his lips are parted, when his mouth is hung open, lax --

He's making them now.

Yongguk punches into him, hard, because that was what he wanted out of Daehyun tonight, and Daehyun gasps, back arching, his fingers tightening at the nape of Yongguk's neck.

"Yeah," he breathes, staccato-ed by the rhythm of Yongguk's thrusts, sweat gathering at his collarbone. Yongguk has one of Daehyun's legs thrown over his shoulder so that he can kneel in the space between them. "C'mon."

Yongguk grunts. Daehyun's eyes are incredibly dark. He'd lined them tonight. The bed is the usual. Yongguk finds he doesn't even mind the way the headboard creaks anymore. It makes the others stay away, at least for a little while.

"You're quiet," Daehyun whines, grasping again behind Yongguk's neck, attempting to bring him down. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not paying you for chit chat," Yongguk says shortly, following it with a particularly hard thrust. Daehyun's mouth falls open, but he doesn't protest.

.

Himchan, at least, is playful, even if some of the things he wants to do to Daehyun are downright humiliating.

Like, for instance, being handcuffed to his own bed with a vibrator tucked neatly inside of him, legs open and splayed as Himchan messed around with the controls.

He likes watching. He can watch Daehyun for _hours_. Luckily, he can pay him for them, too.

.

"I wish you'd stop doing this," Youngjae told him, once. This was a long time ago. By now, Youngjae has stopped voicing his hopeless wishes.

"And do what?" Daehyun had returned. They were sitting on his bed and Youngjae was cleaning a burn on Daehyun's shoulder from where a cigarette had gotten too close, a customer too forward. Daehyun winced at the sting of alcohol.

"I don't know. Anything but this."

"We all have to stick to our talents," Daehyun murmured.

"One day the cigarette's going to be a knife, or a gun, or a crazy hookup, or the police. Is that what you're going to say, then, too?" Youngjae taped him up. He was always taping him up.

"Someone's dick is always looking to get sucked," Daehyun said, crudely and with intent.

Youngjae pushed him, and then he pushed himself off the bed. "That's so not the point!"

He left.

Daehyun still has the scar of the burn on his shoulder, and it looks like a bullet wound.

.

It's not like he does it all for fun - not _all_ for fun. Only partly. ("Sex is a game," he tells Youngjae once, hungover and nursing a coffee and a split lip. "And I always win.")

The money's good. The money's easy.

And school is expensive.

"Just apply for aid," Youngjae reasons with him. "They'll give you loans."

But the thing is he's got no one to back him, no one who could vouch for him, no one who could bail him out if he couldn't pay. His (real) father's dead and the last time he spoke to his mom face to face was right before he was shipped away to high school. ("Bye," he'd said to her. "Thanks for nothing." She'd slapped him. His step-father had, too, and it hurt more.)

He supposes that, now, he could probably ask Himchan to act as his guarantor, but then -

Okay. So perhaps he does it mostly for fun, mostly for the thrill, mostly to be able to look into a stranger's eyes and think, "Yeah, you could get it," and then letting them, because in the end it's Daehyun who gets to choose, isn't it?

It's Daehyun who holds the reigns.

It's Daehyun who holds the noose.

.

The younger guys like fucking when they're high, when they can't tell where their hands end or if the stars are out, when Daehyun feels like crushed velvet and smells like the forest, like the mountains, like wild.

Junhong brings coke. Sometimes, instead of paying, Junhong slips Daehyun another baggie of it, small and filled with the white stuff, when they're finished, when Daehyun is crashing on his mattress, the world darkening to a point, and his mother's voice echoes in his ears: "Daehyun-ah, where are you hiding? Daehyun-ah, where are you?"

Junhong says, "Wow, that was great," and laughs, curling into Daehyun's side. He's warm, and sweaty, and clutches to Daehyun after like he's never realized how many sharp angles he has, how many elbows and knees. Junhong is all bones and air.

"It was okay," Daehyun returns, smirking.

Junhong smacks him on the chest, light and giddy. "Next time, I'll bring better stuff. It'll be extraordinary. Horizon-widening."

He leaves a baggie and a couple of bills.

The world darkens. (His mother's voice rings in his ears. "Daehyun-ah, where are you?")

.

There's this one repeat who brings him sandwiches, or little muffins, or cakes, like maybe he feels guilty for what he's doing and has to offer tribute. Daehyun doesn't mind. The sandwiches are usually pretty good, though the sweets could use a little work.

"You're just really pretty," Jongup tells him, pets his head, urges Daehyun to loosen his jaw just a little bit more, to take him in his mouth just a little deeper. Daehyun gags, but it's practiced, because he knows the other likes that little noise, likes to know that he's trying for Jongup's sake, and then, that he's taking it, smooth and deep and hot.

After, Jongup asks, "What did you want to be, before?" and it's the naiveté that stings the most, his heartfelt question in the face of Daehyun's reality.

So Daehyun answers, voice rough and raw, "A gisaeng," laughing, bringing his arms up in a fluid circle the way he's seen those women do in historical dramas.

Jongup laughs. He says, "You probably would have been good at that, too."

.

(He's fourteen and his-step father closes the door behind him. His father's dead and his step-father is tall and foreboding, a shadow that appeared behind his mother one day and never left. 

"It's okay," the shadow whispers. "Shh, just stay quiet."

So Daehyun does. After all, the shadow is the monster in his bed.

His mother is down the hall outside his door. She's calling, "Daehyun-ah, where are you?" but there's a hand covering his mouth, reminding him, so he doesn't make a sound.)

.

The coffee is bitter. Youngjae kicks him under the table and Daehyun nearly spills the hot mug of it all over himself. He sputters, looking to Youngjae with betrayal in his eyes. Youngjae has his laptop open and what looks like an entire semester's worth of notes on looseleaf paper next to it, as well as his own mug of coffee. Around them, the other university students mill about in the cafe.

"Would you stop smirking at everyone like that," Youngjae gripes, fingers already back to typing. Daehyun has his laptop open, too, but he'd been jumping from site to site online, not really focusing on anything in particular.

"Like what?" Daehyun smirks. It's practiced.

"Like _that_ ," Youngjae huffs. "You're not here to pick anyone up, right? No one wants to have sex with you here."

"I've never met anyone who has not wanted to have sex with me," Daehyun throws back, nonchalant, smoothing down the sides of his black hair by his ears.

"Are you even studying?" Youngjae asks him, scrunching up his face in the process in annoyance. 

Daehyun tells him truthfully, "No."

Youngjae sighs. He does that a lot around Daehyun, but then he doesn't say anything more for a while. Squirming a little at the silence and frost emanating from his friend, Daehyun decides at least to open up his assignment for one of his university classes and to read the essay prompt over again.

A moment more passes, and then Youngjae says, "It's not all about sex, you know. There are other things."

Daehyun tilts his head to the side. "Boring things," he acknowledges.

Youngjae's face scrunches up again. "No, nice things."

"I'm not into nice things."

He breaks up the essay prompt into sections in his head. It's not too hard once the details are there in front of his eyes.

"You could be," Youngjae tries. "If they were nice things with a nice person."

Daehyun shrugs. "And where am I going to meet someone like that?"

.

The way Yongguk fucks is always the same; there's a routine to it. He enters the room and tells Daehyun to get on his bed. He stands at the foot while Daehyun watches him pull his belt from his waist, listens for the clink of the buckle when his belt hits the floor, the rustle of his pants as they pool around his ankles.

Daehyun crawls forward when he beckons, mouths at the bulge of Yongguk's dick through the cotton of his briefs, until Yongguk threads his fingers through Daehyun's hair, gets a firm grip, and guides his body back to the bed that way, Daehyun's neck exposed, his throat vulnerable for Yongguk to sink his teeth into.

He's quick but careful, preps Daehyun if Daehyun hadn't already done so, guides himself into Daehyun in smooth, long strokes. 

This time, it's the same. Daehyun gasps when Yongguk drives into him, mewls when the friction is not enough, whispers encouragements when it's almost too much. 

Yongguk covers his mouth with his fingers.

"You're noisy today," Yongguk growls, lips quirking. "Shh, shh, shh."

The bed squeaks. Daehyun quiets. "Sorry," he murmurs against the hand, and Yongguk chuckles, because this is a first, Daehyun apologizing.

After Yongguk leaves, Daehyun steps under the spray of his shower until the water runs cold.

.

The doorbell buzzes once, twice, three times before the inevitable pause. He imagines Youngjae with his fist raised, poised to knock, just outside his door, imagines him shaking his head and walking away, changing his mind and walking back. Sure enough, he hears a knock, two sharp raps against the door, just moments later.

"Daehyun," Youngjae calls through the door. "Are you in there?"

Daehyun pulls the covers over his head. He has a relatively small studio, and sound travels well in the open air. "No," he tells Youngjae, muffled. "Go away."

"Daehyun, let me in or I'll let myself in," Youngjae threatens.

"Do whatever," he says.

He hears keys jingling in his lock; he'd given Youngjae an extra set ages ago. Then the door clicks open and shut. A few measured steps and the floorboards creaking, and Youngjae's weight dips the mattress of his bed.

"You haven't been to class in a while, or responded to my texts," his friend says. He lays a hand on what he probably thinks is Daehyun's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy," Daehyun mutters. The covers shift and he's exposed. Youngjae has opened all the blinds and he has to squint into the light. 

"Come on," Youngjae coaxes. "Don't be like this."

Daehyun squints at him, too. Youngjae's face is bright from the sun, and he's smiling. He reaches up to him and pulls him down, presses his lips against Youngjae's jawline and works his way to Youngjae's lips. Youngjae's body folds over him. For a moment, it's like they're melting together in the pool of heat let in from the blinds. Then Youngjae freezes, pulls back just a hair, his breath like a ghost.

"What is this?" he whispers.

"Come on," Daehyun coaxes. "Don't you want to fool around?"

" _Jesus_ ," Youngjae cries suddenly, sharp and bitter, and he pulls away completely. He stands, his eyes very wide and his face pale. "Jesus," he says again, softer, plaintive. "No, Daehyun."

He leaves.

Daehyun languishes on his bed. He'd heard the implied _fuck you_ in Youngjae's words.

.

Himchan is careful when he ties Daehyun up. The bonds are soft and supple and well-worn, and he always leaves a little room to give, tells Daehyun he knows what to say if it gets to be too much, or what to do. Daehyun kneels on his bed with his wrists locked together behind his back, folds over at the slightest touch and shivers when Himchan tells him he's being good.

Today Himchan fucks him slow. He'd left most of his toys in the bag he brings with him, but he takes Daehyun's wrists behind his back and urges his hands higher, until Daehyun is straining, his cheek pressed against the mattress and his shoulders sore from supporting his own weight and Himchan's, and Himchan fucks him slow.

He pauses, taps Daehyun on the cheek, and works another binding around Daehyun's face. It's a scarf that digs into the corners of his lips, the knot secure at the base of Daehyun's neck.

"Look at you," Himchan whispers, tracing a finger down Daehyun's spine. "Prettier than I am."

He picks up the pace, rough, and Daehyun is reminded of Yongguk. He's reminded of something else. Himchan fucks him and he can't move his hands, can't make a sound beyond the muffled noises escaping the makeshift gag, and the world shifts so quickly Daehyun's head spins. 

Himchan stabs into him and it _hurts_ , it burns, and tears jump into his eyes and fall fast, and he's hardly aware of Himchan untying the scarf, untying his wrists and bringing them in front of him, rubbing at his forearms, using his thumb to brush the wetness from Daehyun's cheeks.

"Hey," Himchan's saying, his face close. They're laying on Daehyun's bed curled toward each other. "Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry. That was too much. I'm sorry. It's okay."

"Sorry," Daehyun breathes, wretched. "I can--"

"No," Himchan says firmly. "We're done for today."

Eventually, Himchan draws him into the circle of his arms, smooths his palm over Daehyun's hair soothingly. 

"I had a complicated childhood," Daehyun admits to Himchan's throat.

The hand in his hair stops for a moment, then starts back up again. "I'll bet you did," Himchan says.

.

There's this party near campus where some of his friends will be. Daehyun goes and hopes he'll run into Youngjae and then extinguishes that hope. He'd fucked that up pretty badly. Then, he drinks everything other people mix and offer him, and the night descends.

It's hazy out, or maybe everything inside of him is hazy. The party is a blur of colors and people and a quickie in the bathroom. The alcohol swirls in his blood. 

"Youngjae," he shouts into his phone, because he knew Youngjae would answer. "If I don't get out of here as soon as possible, I will make some really bad choices," he thinks he says. He hears Youngjae sigh over the phone. He'd missed his sighs.

"I'll be there," he promises, voice staticky. "Don't follow anyone but me."

"Deal."

Daehyun waits outside, because somewhere in his intoxicated mind he knows that's the only way he'll be able to hold up his own end of the bargain. Youngjae appears under a streetlight in jeans and a hoodie and his glasses and Daehyun smiles at him, uninhibited.

"Come on," Youngjae beckons, already turning. Daehyun scrambles to follow him, stumbling over his own feet. Twice on the way home, Daehyun has to stop, stomach churning, and stand hunched over the curb for a wave of nausea to pass. "The things I do for you," Youngjae mutters.

Youngjae lets them both into his dorm room. It's a single. The desk light is still on with books scattered over his table.

"I'm bothering you," Daehyun realizes, bumping into the corner of the table when he enters.

"No," Youngjae says. "I wasn't getting anything done, anyway."

"You've been ignoring me," Daehyun says next.

Youngjae helps Daehyun sit on his bed, takes his shoes off for him and slides him out of his jacket, hanging that over his chair.

"I've been angry at you," Youngjae amends.

Daehyun sits. The world spins. "Oh," he says. "That's worse."

Youngjae sighs. He walks over to his dresser and pulls out an extra t-shirt and sweatpants for Daehyun to change into. He changes into the other clothes, struggling a little. Youngjae changes, too. "I'm not mad anymore."

He sits next to Daehyun, mattress creaking. He looks tired and unhappy, and Daehyun made him that way. "I'm sorry for what I did." Daehyun gulps. "I'm sorry because I think I want to do it again."

"What?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Youngjae stares, and stares, and stares. Finally, he says, "Not tonight. You're still drunk."

Daehyun looks down at his hands, shame making his cheeks hot. "Oh."

"Let's go to sleep, Daehyun," Youngjae suggests softly. He guides Daehyun down onto the bed and lets him curl into Youngjae's warmth. They fall asleep like that, two bodies sharing a single space.

.

The next morning is like liquid, full and easily disturbed, and Daehyun doesn't want to cause the first ripple. Youngjae waits. He knows he's awake. He'd woken up with his face pressed against Youngjae's chest and Youngjae's arm under his head, Youngjae's legs tangled with his own.

In the end, it's Youngjae who skips the first stone. "Do you remember what happened last night?" he asks Daehyun, his voice gravelly from sleep.

"I was very drunk," is Daehyun's knee-jerk response.

Youngjae sighs, traces circles with a finger on Daehyun's shoulder.

"In wine there is truth," Daehyun says. "Isn't that how the saying goes?"

A pause. Youngjae hums, thinking. "Do you still want to kiss me?"

" _Yes_ ," Daehyun breathes.

"Okay," Youngjae says. Daehyun kisses him, and Youngjae's lips are soft and dry in the morning, and yet he still feels an electric shiver race down his spine to his toes. After, he lays his cheek on Youngjae's chest again. Youngjae hums. "That was nice."

"It was," Daehyun admits.

"I thought you didn't like nice things."

"Maybe I could." Daehyun taps his fingers over Youngjae's heart. "If they were with a nice person."

"Am I a nice person?"

Daehyun grins. He'd heard Youngjae's heart skip a beat. "You're nice enough."

.

**Author's Note:**

> _Found in forbidden nights / Sharp as glass and twice as bright / Ignore the promises we made / Forgotten now / We’ll never get our way_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _My mouth your lips / Your hands my hips / Our time right now / Will set us free / And relieve us of our misery_
> 
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> 
> - _Head is Not My Home_ , MS MR
> 
> Come visit me at [my tumblr ](http://paperkrane.tumblr.com):) or [leave me a prompt](http://andnowforyaya.tumblr.com/ask).


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